Let's Settle This
by Ahshe'sgone
Summary: He might have something to tell her and she might too, but words are not cooperating, so she needs to find another way to deal with frustrations and needed explanations.


He could just leave the house forever and pretend to not know who she is next time he sees her. Too bad he significantly likes this particular house.

The line between politely knocking on the door of another's apartment and banging it back to pieces of wood is easily erased in Soul's mind when he needs to be in the presence of the godliest (stupidest) of his friends, right now.

Alarmed Tsubaki opens the door a crack and warily eyes the suspicious visitor. She smiles when she sees it's Soul, but her expression turns wary once more when she takes his in.

"Is everything okay, Soul-kun?" she asks. Her voice is sweet and heartfelt and he can't see why his meister can't sound half as warm as this.

"Yeah, sorry to disturb. Uh, Black Star?"

She nods and steps aside for him to go through the door. "Sorry for the late hour," he apologises again, mostly because he's not quite sure if he sounds at all mentally sane.

"It's fine," Tsubaki smiles. "It's Friday," she offers and motions to the living room where he sees Black Star already looking at him.

Black Star remains silent, he kinda already knows what this is, and offers Soul the can of beer he was about to open for himself. Soul sits across from him and stabs a hole into the top of the can. He needs to stab _something_. Tsubaki politely goes into another room.

"Yeah?" Black Star says.

"Had a fight. With Maka. Will leave soon. Just lemme stay here. Uh. For an hour."

"Why? Bookworm took her eyes away from you for a second and you got mad?"

Black Star smirks, Soul glares at him but then gives up, takes a sip of tasteless ale, a big breath in and a sigh out.

* * *

Maka kicks Blair out an hour before the cat has to go to work in the most civil way she can and locks the door after, because surely that insolent butter knife will have forgotten his keys and will have to force his way in via scythe-finger. That will ruin the lock and she will have another, very legitimate reason to be angry at him.

She stampedes around the apartment, picking up stray clothes and empty glasses, blaming every piece of disarray and speck of dust on her weapon.

She tosses his hoodie on his bed, without stepping into his room and bangs his door shut.

She'd sit down and try to calm herself but she fears she might implode and die. She wants to bite her arm and maybe make it bleed. But those are not healthy thoughts, are they?

* * *

Soul needs to storm home before he overstays his welcome by a gazillion hours because he needs to yell at Maka how he will **not** forget about it, and HELL, they were never 'friends' to begin with, and she is very fucking stupid for thinking that he could.

It's raining, _of course_, so he'll definitely also be graced with the disappointed you're-not-even-mature-enough-to-take-care-of-yourself look when he gets home in wet clothes. Maybe she'll baby him, once more, and towel dry his hair herself, blushing at his bare chest. Take a minute, or half an hour to look at the drops of rain on his face with flushed cheeks and ears. Oh, and tell him that yeah, they're partners, and that she doesn't really see him that way_._

She's locked the door, the little shit.

He kicks it and a few seconds later, he hears keys jingling and the door's flung open. He expects her to shout at him the obvious "DID YOU JUST KICK THE DOOR?", but she doesn't. She steps back and crosses her arms. Yeah, there's the look. Her hair is in a rough ponytail and her eyes are red.

"You know," she robotically says. "It's not _cool_ or something stupid like that to take the bike, in the rain, angry and irrational and come back at four in the morning."

"Yeah." Should he add a "sorry" to that? No. She fucked everything up. No need for him to apologise.

"You angry?" she asks.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah." She looks to him for a response but he's obviously on mute, again. What can she do but oblige, again? "Let's settle this."

...because she wants to get physical and if kicking him in the balls gets her head clear, who the hell cares about pain? Maybe he'll stab her for it and then she can feel mortal and level-headed.

She takes rapid strides toward him. He gets distracted for a second, admiring her flexibility and the effect the angle between her legs has on her skirt. A kick in the stomach and he snaps back to reality, to grab her by the shirt and hold her close.

"No half-assery. Knock me back, girl," he hisses and trips her.

He catches her before she falls and hell, does she say "thank you"? No, she bites his hand and kicks him the shin. She pulls the band out of her hair and snickers when she lets out an "ow, ow, ouch". She's about to push him away but he catches on and gives her a push towards the floor. How did his hand get under her head to cushion the fall? He doesn't want to think about it.

He takes hold of both of her arms and holds them in place. Huh. Does he think she can't move them now? Little boy.

"Think you're stronger than me?" she forces.

"Uh-huh."

She pulls and pushes but her wrists remain unmoved. Hm. She calms herself and appreciates the cold radiating from him. He'll need to get out of drenched clothes. Thinks about getting her leg to join in the fun by kneeing him in the stomach but her scouting for the right spot to hit results in a more interesting discovery.

Is he? Wait. Is he hard?

She must not blush. What? _She must not blush. WHAT?_ Oh. Communication with her brain is cut off, so she headbutts him, he loses focus and she's on top.

"So, what was that about me fucking things up?" she asks, feeling superior in her higher altitude.

He's looking dumbfounded and stupid. "You little shit," he starts and she gasps because, oh Lord of Death, did he just call her a little shit? "You just won't shut down your brain for _half a fuckin' second_-"

He gives her no choice, really. Maybe it was her plan all along, but now, and with this, she has to move.

So she does. And it feels good for a second or two, for the amount of time it takes either of them to realise what is happening. When a questioning huff resonates from underneath her, she's quick to stop and start thinking of ways out. Maybe pass out? Pretend to be asleep? Whistle her way back to childishness?

"Did you just...?" he asks, brows lost under white strands of hair.

"I might have?" She can't help the question mark at the end of her sentence.

"But you said -_you __**said**_ we shouldn't do this again?"

"Because you were going on about how you're never gonna let us get that drunk again!"

"Yeah, 'cause I thought it happened _because_ we were drunk?" He props himself up on his elbows and mockingly shakes his head at her.

She's not sure what he's mocking about her. Maybe he's mocking all of her.

"Youjerk!" she shouts in his face and he doesn't mind.

He flips them over and bites her shoulder because that's what he saw first. She grunts angrily and punches him in the stomach. Half-heartedly. "You think this is over, UGH, just because I'd said I like your teeth?"

He withdraws from her shoulder and licks her chin instead. "Yeah," he says. "Don't you?"

So she gets him off of her, using her status as his meister and his habit of obeying her because, usually, their lives are on the line. She gets up and straightens her clothes. Rubs her shoulder and tells him to get up.

This can't happen like this. Not again. It's not like she isn't rational. Not like she hasn't been able to read _one friggin' paragraph _or anything like that, just from the memory of his voice against her ear. Or from how that wretched scar feels against her bare skin.

"Soul," she says. "Let's talk."

He refuses, she's pushed against the wall and made to understand that, yeah, she doesn't really wanna talk either. Okay. Let him undress her instead.

They must be somewhat resonating.

He can feel her wanting to lecture him about everything that he's ever done and he can feel her wanting to get him out of his wet clothes because he'll get sick and also because, hey, how come her own shirt is suddenly gone?But they can't be. He's still pissed. No harmony and shit. Not here. He's just used to her.

Where's her hand? She can't account for it. Is it in his pants? He's collapsing against her so she guesses she can admit to it working some_ part _of him_._ She uses her new-found properties as Maka-gripping-Soul's-dick to get him to shed his jacket and shirt.

His tongue is finally in her mouth and she can't really keep track of the time between bites and licks and kisses and therefore doesn't really care.

He takes off her panties and she thinks they're off way too fast. She might have to reprimand him about ruining her underwear and ill-using one's shape-shifting gifts, but not now. Fingers are suddenly inside her and she has no more room for thought. She can only forever forsake the use of knees and bones and muscles and let gravity prove itself unbeatable in a whole, new, non-mathematical way.

He kinda loves how she's all weak-in-the-knees and girly in his arms, though the second he thinks that, he gets a bite in the neck and it's not at all sexual. His fingers are excited about their new discoveries and that one button-like thing that gets Maka all the way from, well, Maka, to this gimme-more-right-the-FUCK-now creature. He feels like he's had too much good luck. He feels like his lifelong share of fortune is gone by now.

They equally share this house, but he kinda wants to get her in his room. Getting her naked on his bed logically results in a she's-mine-for-the-next-three-years (or maybe, probably, forever, right?) contract/scenario. He pushes and guides using her discarded bra as bait and they're in _her_ room, for unknown reasons, and he's obediently folding her bra and neatly setting it on her desk.

She's again in control as she realises she's 'home' and he's 'visitor' and she's loving this because, apparently, Soul automatically obeys her subtle commands while in human form, too.

Once a condom is magically dug up out of the pockets enveloping his butt, she's not sure whether she cares about being in control anymore.

All he cares about is to get in and go about it slower, harder and more effectively. He's reassured when she writhes and squirms under him, trying not to let too much emotion show but unable to hold her voice in as it ascends octaves without over-analysing and explaining.

There is no pain to speak of this time and she might just not be able to read a single word again. How is she going to get through daily life after this?

Was that what he was saying about not shutting her brain down for _halfafuckin'second_? She fears her brain might rebel and revert back to being a five-year-old, only able to think about one thing at a time. Though, this time it won't be "daddy". Thank Shinigami-sama for that. Or Soul for getting her out of the 'poor little girl with daddy-issues' charade. This time it'll most likely be a plan of a sort, called "how to claim all of Soul Eater Evans' attentions and keep them".

Fingers are out and something less musically gifted, crafty and bendable is pushed in. Soul's thoughts and stray words are grunted into her ear and she can't hold back. She needs to bend and twist and turn and push at the incantation of his voice, 'cause, hell, he seems to know more about this than she does.

Heh, all these pop-ups and ads on the PC; he'd _better_ know more about this than she does.

Her tits are not even hers anymore. Her tits are "tiny-tits, and who the hell could appreciate them but a pedophile". The tits cupped in his palms are those of a girl desired and loved and that can't possibly be her, can it?

Every surface on his body has been touched or sled against, so, for lack of anything else to do, he attempts another push, and another, and they are each immediately met by something that indistinctly sounds like his name and a clench around his dick which might make him underperform if he's not calculative and careful enough.

He's not entirely sure whether he can trust his civilised self to deal with this. Maka hasn't uttered an actual word or a syntagmatically correct phrase in a while now, so he can probably get away with leaving this to instinct. Her voice is progressively getting higher in pitch and he takes that as a good sign. He holds on for a few seconds or eternities more as she grows more loud and red. The room is possibly turning into jelly and he gets signals from her that she thinks that so too, so he need not be worried about insanity sipping into their apartment.

"Are we on the floor?" she asks and he is at last confident he can answer her in a satisfactory way.

"Yeah," he concludes, after doing a check on their peripherals.

"Is this when we start kissing each other good-morning and fucking each other-goodnight?" she asks.

"Yeah," he concludes, after taking a moment to locate her panties (how did they get on top of that lamp?) and assessing her position.

* * *

A/N: I hope you liked it! Of course, reviews are very welcome and appreciated. And also, might I add, very helpful.


End file.
